


reaped

by jessieflemlng



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, The Hunger Games AU, bc woso needs more au fics, i hate love triangles & yet here i am writing one, i only tagged characters that survive more than 2 chapters sry, not sure who's endgame yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessieflemlng/pseuds/jessieflemlng
Summary: Tobin's foot catches on a tree root, and she falls. Her head feels foggy, her vision is blurry, and she's wondering if this is how it'll end, when a figure appears over her. Tobin hopes it's Christen. It's not. She braces herself for whatever's coming next, be it a sword or a knife, but nothing happens. Her vision clears just enough to make out two piercing blue eyes glaring at her accompanied by a voice yelling at her to run. Tobin vaguely registers that it's Alex. Run. Run. Run.So she does.//or, the hunger games au





	1. chapter 1

Tobin wakes up cold.

Her family hasn’t been able to power the heater in their small, wooden house for years, and though the thin walls manage to keep any actual frost out, the morning air is still cold enough for Tobin to see her breath. She pulls herself out from under her worn blankets and slips directly into her leather boots before her feet have time to get cold.

Careful not to wake her little sister, Perry, Tobin pads as softly as she can into the kitchen, where her coat is laid out along with her satchel. The jacket is warm and made of rich material that’s scarce in districts like hers. She only has it because it was a gift from the one district 12 victor ever, Heather Mitts.

Heather won two years ago, and spent most of her winnings gifting necessities to the poorest families (though in district 12, that’s pretty much everyone). Perry had gotten a new pair of shoes after showing the old pair that had more holes than material, Jeffrey a second pair of pants, and the entire family had been fed for a month on Heather’s donations to every household based on the number of people who lived there.

With her pack slung across one shoulder, Tobin crosses to the stove and hunts for a match. She strikes it, but it doesn’t light. Cursing quietly, she tries again and again until finally, on the fifth try, the head catches and instantly starts warming her fingers. Tobin tosses the match into the wood she’d sent Jeffrey to collect the day before, and lets the fire warm her hands while she waits to make sure it will stay alive.

Satisfied with the warmth coming from the stove, she grabs the coins her mother has left her on the kitchen table and slips out the door. Her boots crunch in the snow, and even in her expensive jacket, she shivers.

Tobin keeps her head down as she passes the alley that the homeless have taken over for the time being. They’re huddled together in thin, ratty blankets, even worse than the ones Tobin had woken up under. A child holds out his hand at her with skinny, hunched shoulders, and wide, hungry eyes. He probably hasn't eaten a full meal in months.

She walks past without a word.

Tobin used to give money to anyone who asked. She’d go find the current abandoned street the homeless were occupying and give them her pocket money or leftover food. She’d stay and chat awhile, playing with the kids and laughing with the adults and keeping them company. But as the years went by, pocket money had to go to the family, and leftover food just didn’t exist. Times got tougher and people got tighter with their money and possessions until nobody even had any kindness to spare.

Exhaling, Tobin watches her breath drift away. It’s quiet this morning. Most houses are still asleep on the one day a year they get off.

She usually hums on her way over to the Hob, but today it seems wrong.

The cold is beginning to seep into her boots as she approaches the lifeless stalls, but her journey over is rewarded with four open, huddled together over a fire burning in an old barrel. Like she expected, Tobin spots her usual seller, Pia, and quickly walks over to her.

“The same,” she mutters, handing her the satchel. Pia eyes her as Tobin counts out the proper amount of money.

“Surprised to see you here on a day like today.”

“We still have to eat,” she says somewhat shortly, counting out her money.

“Don’t worry.” Pia slips five potatoes into the satchel before pausing to look at her customer. “It’s your last year in the reaping.”

“I have siblings,” she says pointedly. Is she bitter that Pia has been long since aged out with no children to worry about? Maybe a little. “Just give me my food.”

Pia sighs, but slips a package of meat into the pack. Handing it back and scooping up the coins, she says, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Tobin gives her a look as she stalks away. She grumbles to herself all the way home, but her sour mood is slightly dampened by the warmth the kitchen offers as she quickly slips inside to avoid letting the heat out. She unpacks the satchel, but frowns at an unrecognizable lump at the bottom.

The coarse brown paper rustles as she unfolds the packaging. She identifies the mystery grocery and can’t help the smile creeping onto her face. Chocolate from Pia. A reaping day gift. Such luxuries are rare in almost every district besides 1 and 2. She sets it next to the bag of milk from their family’s cow. Just as she begins the potatoes cooking in the cast iron skillet, Perry stumbles into the room rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“You cold?” Tobin asks. Perry shakes her head as she pulls herself into a chair at the table.

“Scared.”

Tobin’s smile drops. She sighs. “I know.” She pushes past the tiny bottles of herbs and various medicines her parents have collected over the years to run what used to be a free hospital-like business, and grabs the bit of salt and pepper they can afford. After adding them to the potatoes, Tobin begins scrambling eggs. Eggs are filling and healthy, but also rare and hard to come by nowadays. _Thank god for their chicken owning neighbor_ , she thinks. The youngest Heath observes her older sister stirring the eggs on the stove.

“Aren’t you?”

“Hmm,” Tobin hums absentmindedly. “I mean, aren't I what?”

“Scared.”

 _Yes. Duh._ “Nope.” Tobin turns her back to hide the obvious worry on her face as she pours the last of the milk into a pot to start warming. They’ve had to ration the cow’s feed, and as a result, every milking produces less. “I’m not gonna get picked, Perry, and neither will Jeffrey. You don’t need to worry.”

Perry seems unsatisfied with this answer, and Tobin has to admit her acting has never been great, but she manages to distract her sister with--

“Chocolate!” Perry says. Her eyes are wide. Last time they had chocolate was over two years ago. The chunk is almost frozen solid, but Tobin manages to carve off a small sliver for Perry to taste and shaves the rest into the hot milk on the stove.

The rest of their family trickles their way into the kitchen, thanking Tobin for making breakfast and gushing over the hot chocolate as if this day is just another. Tobin’s dad makes a joke that Jeffrey redirects back, making the whole family laugh, but by the time they’re seated, it’s silent. The quiet at the table is deafening.

Tobin stabs a potato cube. She’s pretty sure they have no nutritional value, and with the prices of spices right now, there’s no taste value either. She hates potatoes. But, they’re cheap and filling.

Perry does dishes while Tobin and Jeffrey take turns washing up in snow they've boiled into warm water on the stove. Tobin sits in the tub until the water is barely passing as lukewarm. She feels safe in the bath, and finds herself wishing again that she were in district 4. Aside from it being one of the Career and Capitol favorite districts, ensuring a much richer life than she has now, it's also the district of fishing, and Tobin loves to swim.

Her father had taught them in a lake on the outskirts of the old district 12 border. Two years ago, the Capitol reigned in the fencing, making district 12 smaller, and Tobin hasn't dared sneak over the fence to swim again. She thinks she'd actually die if she ever saw the ocean.

Eventually, Tobin steps out into a towel, and shivers as she quickly dries herself. Her mother has set out a dress for her, and she steps into it. It's soft, but not warm. 

Silently, her mother towel dries her hair and brushes it out. After braiding a small section and pinning it to the back of her head, she retreats back into her room, and Tobin's father follows. They have three kids just the right amount of years apart that they will suffer through reaping day for nearly fourteen years. Pretending it's not happening is the way they’ve chosen to cope with it.

Two o’clock rolls around, and Tobin sets Perry the task of baking bread for dinner while the reaping is going on; she can’t come, and Tobin doesn’t want her to watch, either. The two older Heath siblings set out to the square. They pass waves of kids coming in twos or threes with twelves clutching their older siblings tightly. Tobin squeezes Jeffrey’s hand, and he looks up at her. “It’ll be okay, Tobes.”

He gives her one last smile before splitting off with the rest of the twelves. Tobin waits until he’s swallowed by the crowd, before turning and following the eighteens. She holds out her finger for a skin prick numbly, and watches her blood soak into the little square next to her name on the sign in sheet. “Enjoy your last reaping.” The Peacekeeper signing her in throws her a smile, and Tobin barely restrains herself from flipping him off.

She grumbles out a, “Thanks,” and then stalks off to where the other female eighteens are waiting.

Tobin keeps her eyes trained on the sky as Effie Trinket takes the stage. Her voice carries clearly over the crowd, and Tobin finds herself clenching her fists at the awful Capitol accent. She refuses to look. She refuses to acknowledge the gaudy hair and makeup Effie has on, or the clothing that probably cost as much as Tobin spends per month to feed her family.

Finally, Effie trots off to the side. A large screen descends center stage, and a live stream begins. As always, beginning with district 1, every other district is made to watch the other victors be reaped. There’s a brief silence, some shuffling, and Tobin knows President Snow is taking the stage. This will be the hundredth game; a Quarter Quell. As if the games weren’t already terrible enough, every twenty-fifth, there’s a new element added just to spice things up a bit and remind the citizens of Panem that they have no control, even the richest districts. Tobin watches the clouds as President Snow goes on to explain what happened in the previous Quarter Quells.

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary, every district was required to hold an election and vote on the tributes to represent them. On the fiftieth anniversary, every district was required to send twice as many tributes. And on the third seventy-fifth anniversary, the male and female tributes were reaped from their existing pool of victors. Today marks the hundredth anniversary,” President Snow continues. Tobin hears him drawing a card from the box. “And to remind the districts that we have total power over them, that means we also have the power to _save_ anyone at any time. This year’s tributes will be chosen solely from the pool of female citizens. Congratulations, gentleman.”

Tobin’s eyes snap to the stage. She feels her stomach rise to her throat as she realizes what this means; Jeffrey is safe, but she has twice the probability of being picked.

As soon as this has been said, the livestream fades to district 1, and the reaping begins. District 1 picks a girl that instantly catches Tobin’s attention. She smirks, walking up to the stage as her piercing blue eyes scan the crowd and fall directly into the camera. Alex Morgan. The perfect name for a victor. Tobin’s heart aches as the selection from district 4 hugs the girl next to her. The newly reaped tribute tries to appear upbeat for her friend, but fails. As the districts pass, Tobin’s heart becomes heavier and heavier. She feels a collective sigh go through the crowd when district 10 reaps two twelves. And then, it’s their turn.

Effie Trinket takes the stage. “Well, I guess I don’t need to say ‘ladies first’ because...” she trails off with a little giggle. Her slender fingers reach into the bowl and removes one, crisp slip of paper. She unfolds it. “Christen Press.”

A seventeen walks with shaky steps up to the platform. She looks absolutely terrified. 

Tobin knows her. She used to see her around school all the time, though the two have never really been friends. Christen belongs to the family that runs the bakery, one of the few luxury stores in district 12. Tobin remembers Jeffrey looking at the cakes in the window every year on his birthday. Back when money was more abundant, they'd even gotten him one; a rich vanilla with fluffy frosting. 

At school, Christen had often talked about how she was going to take over the shop one day. How her parents were training her and her siblings already. Tobin can only think about how she probably never will.

Back on Jeffrey's tenth birthday, with money Tobin had gotten from taking care of their neighbor's chickens for a week, she'd entered the bakery for the first time in her life. Often, she had walked past it on her way to school, but never had the money to go in. Any leftover change was spent saving for new clothing or household items they could not make themselves. 

It smelled sweet, and was warm. Tobin had eyed the baskets of bread rolls. Walking over to them, she reveled in the smooth, golden brown tops. Each one uniform in size and shape. "Hello."

Tobin stepped back, raising her eyes while bowing her head slightly. 

Christen stood behind the counter with a soft smile on her face. "Can I help you?"

Quickly, Tobin found her voice and moved slightly further away from the rolls. "Yes, I'm here to get a small cake for my brother's birthday and..." 

"And a roll?" Christen guessed. "Maybe two?"

The heavy weight of the coins in her pocket felt like bricks. This was  _her_ money. She had earned it, and therefor, her parents allowed her to do what she liked with it. She could instead get Jeffrey a cupcake and then she would have enough for rolls if she used the extra bit she knew she had. 

But Perry needed a new coat. She had always been smaller and skinnier than most, and always the first to get cold. The extra money Tobin had earned could get them over halfway to a Capitol jacket; one far more durable and useful than the ones made and sold with thin material. 

She cleared her throat. "No. Not today."

Christen eyed her. "Really? They're very good."

"No," Tobin snapped. She sighed, meeting Christen's eyes. "I'm sorry. But no, I don't have any money to spare."

She walked her way over to the case that had the cakes ready made, but Christen didn't follow. "Then I'll gift them to you."

"What?" 

"The rolls," Christen said. "You can have them for free."

"I'm pretty sure your parents wouldn't allow that," Tobin said. 

With a smile, Christen produced a bag from below the counter and put a couple rolls into it. "How many in your family?"

"Five," Tobin said slowly, "but really, I don't want you to get in trouble. And  _I_ don't want to get in trouble."

She filled the bag with three more pieces of bread and brought it over to the cakes. "It's fine. I'm allowed to eat whatever I want, and since _I_ picked them up and put them in the bag, now they're mine to do what I want with."

"And you want to give them...to me?" 

"There will be more tomorrow," Christen said with a shrug. 

Tobin's cheeks burned as their differences caught up with her. Christen, who was allowed to eat all the cakes and white rolls she wanted, who probably never will have to taste the coarse brown bread they make from the Capitol's tesserae. Christen, who was going to take over the bakery and have a life of security. Christen, who went to school for little more than fun and friends. Christen, who would never understand what it was like to pretend you're not hungry so your little siblings could have an extra half potato. Christen, who would never feel the constant cold Tobin felt for the months and months of snow that plagued district 12. Christen, who would and _could_ never understand the desperation of begging richer families for chores to get a little bit of money. 

"Thank you," she managed to get out. 

"It's my pleasure," Christen replied. "Now, a cake, you said?"

"Yes," Tobin said. She cleared her throat. "A vanilla one, with vanilla frosting also."

"How about..." Christen tapped her chin thoughtfully. 

There were five vanilla cakes on the shelves, all stood on little pallets of packed snow to keep the icing from melting in the bakery's heat. Some were considerably bigger than others, and Tobin immediately knew she could not afford those. She silently begged Christen to suggest something affordable, so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself even further about her financial situation.

"That one." Christen pointed at a round, small, but not the smallest, cake. "It's vanilla with vanilla, but between the two cakes is whipped cream and strawberries."

Strawberries. Expensive. "It looks good," Tobin admitted. "How much?"

"How much do you have?" 

"Christen."

Another smile found its way onto her face. "You know my name."

"You don't have to be so surprised," Tobin mumbled. With a sigh, she showed her five dollars.

She saw Christen glance down for a split second before meeting Tobin's eyes again. "Three dollars."

Tobin was pretty sure the cake was worth at least four, but she nodded. "I'll take it, then."

"I was hoping you'd pick that one," Christen said. She pulled out a flat piece of white cardboard and gently lifted the cake onto the center of it. "I iced it myself. First cake I did all by myself that my parents let go on sale." She carefully constructed a box around the cake with the extra cardboard on the side and pushed it towards Tobin with the bag of bread on top. Tobin handed her three dollars, and Christen smiled.

"Thanks for the bread," Tobin said, picking up her groceries. 

"No problem," Christen said. "See you at school!"

"Uh, yeah," Tobin said. It sounded weird, but she let a small smile fall onto her face, and she repeated, "I'll see you at school."

But she doesn't. 

That weekend, her parents ask her to drop out and start working full time for their neighbor whose wife just died. He needed extra help taking care of his farm animals, and he had the money to give her a steady salary instead of just pocket money by the hour. 

Now, year's later, Tobin is shivering in the cold again. Watching Christen stand there on stage in a neat white dress and a flower in her hair that she got from God knows where in the middle of winter, Tobin feels her breath catch. She had felt so alienated from her, so different. But they're both citizens of district 12, and therefor, citizens of the Capitol. Any ill feelings are product of Capitol encouraged division of districts to keep them all separate enough to prevent revolt.

Effie returns to the bowl. Normally, at this point, Tobin will stop worrying about herself and her heart would begin a conflicting pulse of adrenaline brought on by relief, but then concern for Jeffrey. Today, she lets herself save all her worry for herself. 

Her eyes stay trained on the slips of paper where her name is mixed in forty-eight times. Effie’s ridiculously long fingernails fish around in the bowl before drawing another slip of paper.

 _Please don’t be me_ , Tobin begs. _Please please please_.

And it’s not her. It’s Rose Lavelle.

Tobin’s eyes watch as the camera shifts to said girl. She’s a tiny little twelve; skinny and shaking and her clothes barely fit on her frame. Rose chews on a fingernail as the kids around her begin to nudge her. Rose’s eyes are wide, and Tobin knows she’s already dead.

Peacekeepers move in towards her, and Tobin’s body begins moving before she can even process it.

Tobin should be feeling like all the other eighteens; relieved that they are saved from the games for the rest of their lives. She should be celebrating. And with Jeffrey safe, she should be imagining the dinner they’ll have tonight.

Instead, she’s thinking about Rose. She thinks about how Rose gets permanently sunburned every summer. How she’d given every girl in her class a rock for their birthday because she didn’t have any money for a real present. How she’d cried when Pia had let her take a piece of caramel for free on Christmas. 

And then Tobin thinks about her in the arena. Rose, who’s all pale cheeks and shaking knees when confronted with any kind of conflict. Tobin can practically see her death; a bloody, tragic slaughter, that will ultimately be forgotten.

Her blood boils.

Tobin’s eyes fall to the Peacekeepers grabbing at Rose, whose skinny wrists look like they might snap. She’s crying, and winces as the taller Peacekeeper yanks her roughly.

“I volunteer!” She means to yell it, but it barely comes out louder than a whisper, and the Peacekeepers continue trying to drag Rose to the stage. Tobin pushes past the crowd and runs towards them. “Get your hands off of her! I said I volunteer!”

The Peacekeepers pause. In the hundred years the games have existed, nobody in district 12 has ever volunteered for someone else before. In the career districts it’s rare to have someone _not_ volunteer because there’s actually a chance of survival and glory.

Here, it’s a death sentence.

They release Rose. Tobin refuses to look at her. She just marches up onto the stage and tries to keep her face blank, knowing every single district is watching her.

Effie Trinket looks absolutely delighted. She toddles over to Tobin and sets her next to Christen before saying, “How exciting. So, what’s your name?”

“Tobin.” She looks around and finds Jeffrey. He looks confused and angry and a little bit proud. “Tobin Heath.”

“And how old are you, Miss Heath?”

“Eighteen.” Surprise is evident. To volunteer is one thing, but to volunteer after you know you’re free for the rest of your life is another. “Well.” For once, Effie seems lost for words. Finally, she just smiles. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Tobin locks eyes with Jeffrey and holds up her hand without thinking. Her thumb, pointer, and little finger are extended with the middle and ring fingers folded. It’s a sign from the sign language she and Jeffrey had made up back when they wanted to exclude Perry from things just because they could. It’s been years since they’d used it.

Tobin hopes he still remembers.

He does. He holds the same sign back to her.

They created it to mean _I love you_ , but today, it means _goodbye_.


	2. chapter two

The next hour is a blur.

“Please come this way,” Effie says. She sounds friendly enough, but the Peacekeepers flanking her make it obvious that any requests she may make are demands.

She's lead to a small, private room, with a cushioned couch and a pitcher of water. Out of the corner of her eye she sees two Peacekeepers break off and show Christen to her own, and then, she’s left alone. A Peacekeeper tells her she will have twenty minutes for any visitors to come, and then they will begin their long train ride to the Capitol.

First to come in is Jeffrey and Perry.

“I’m sorry,” Tobin says.

“Don’t be.” Jeffrey waves her off as she opens her mouth to protest. She looks at him in disbelief, but he continues, “I mean it, Tobin. You saved Rose’s life.”

“And you can still try to win,” Perry pipes up.

Tobin feels her heart ache, and opens her mouth to tell her that there is absolutely no way she’s going to come out of this alive, but then Perry turns to face her earnestly, and Tobin remembers she’s still just ten. “Yeah,” Tobin manages to get out. “Yeah, I can definitely try.”

No sooner had her siblings gone than Rose’s parents come in. They’re tearful, and Tobin wishes they would just go away. All she can say is, “It was the right thing to do” over and over again until they finally leave.

She doesn’t have that many friends; dropping out of school and working for a farmer 24/7 kind of eliminates any possible social life from a person, so she expects to do nothing but wait and sit for the next ten minutes.

“You have another visitor,” a Peacekeeper says.

Tobin looks up in surprise, and is rewarded with Christen’s parents. The two look sad, but they have soft smiles on their faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says. “I’m Tobin Heath.”

“We know,” Christen’s mom says. “Christen has talked about you.”

 _What could Christen Press possibly have to say about me?_ Tobin wonders. She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve spoken. Really, she can count on one finger if you only take into consideration real conversations.

“We just wanted to tell you that what you did was really admirable,” she continues, “and that we will make sure to look out for your family. We know you have been the main source of income. Please don’t worry about that.”

Tobin smiles, a real genuine one. She may not have many friends, but Perry is cute and Jeffrey has a nice youthful appearance to him. Both are charming, and maybe that will be enough to keep them fed.

“You know, I was just saying, maybe district 12 will have another victor,” Christen’s dad says. His voice is gruff, and Tobin knows he’s waiting until he gets home to break down.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tobin says. “Christen is--”

“No,” he says. “I’m talking about you, Tobin.”

“What?”

“Our kids...” Christen’s mom says. “Well, you know how it is. We run the bakery, but we still live in district 12. All our lives we have tried to shield our daughters from that. Tyler and Channing are safe from the reapings, but Christen... maybe we shouldn’t have protected them so much.”

A Peacekeeper tells them they need to leave, and they stand. “You can do it,” Christen’s dad says. “We know you can, and Christen does too.”

Tobin has no idea where any of this is coming from. She’s never spoken to them in her life, and her one long encounter with Christen was about pastries. Still, she smiles, and thanks them before she’s ushered into a car away from Christen’s parents who have begun to cry.

The ride to the train tracks is short and fast in a car. Tobin’s never been in one before. Reporters swarm them when they arrive, but the Peacekeepers break a path for her. _How ironic_ , she thinks. _Protecting me now so they can watch me die later._

The sleek Capitol train looks out of place against the drab wooden tracks, and Tobin is reminded again of the difference between where they’re going and where they come from.

Effie leads them into a car with a polished wooden table and stuffed armchairs. Already, Tobin knows this one room is more luxurious than any house in district 12. She directs Tobin to one room and Christen to another, reminds them to be back in an hour, and then goes to pour herself a cup of tea.

The train begins moving, and Tobin tries to hide her unease, but she can’t help it. They’re moving faster than she’s even achieved on a horse, and really, she’s only _seen_ a train a couple times before, much less _been_ on one.

She walks into the room Effie has given her, and slips off her boots. Her feet sink into the plush carpet, and she sighs. There is a bed, a small table and chair, and another door leading into a bathroom.

An investigation of the bath produces a shower. She’s never had a shower before. It feels like rain, but on purpose and warm. It soothes her. Her thoughts keep going back to the fact that in 72 hours she’ll be fighting to the death, but she stops herself. This might be the last shower of her life; she might as well enjoy it.

Back in the bedroom, she finds drawers and drawers of clothing. Shirts and pants and skirts in every material, from cotton to a smooth fabric Tobin identifies as silk. She slips on a pair of denim jeans and a black silk t-shirt. It feels like wearing water.

After brushing out her hair and toweling it dry the best she can, Tobin returns to the original room and finds Christen is already there.

They sit.

She meets Christen’s eyes, and instantly knows they’re thinking the same thing.

_I can’t win._

Tobin knows she’s strong. Hauling pails of water and bails of hay has sharpened her muscles, and she sees Christen is very much the same from a life of eating well and carrying around baking trays. Maybe, if that were all they needed, they’d have a chance.

But in the richer districts, namely 1, 2, and 4, they have such lives of luxury there is nothing for them to do but train for the games. In theory, you’re not allowed to, but it is much more entertaining for the Capitol citizens if you do, so they turn a blind eye to it.

Because of that, Tobin will be facing off against tributes who know ten different ways to kill with ten different weapons, and have been learning hand to hand combat since they were five.

“Are you hungry?” Effie’s back.

Her voice cuts through Tobin’s thoughts, and she looks up. Christen shrugs as Effie stands there impatiently before sliding a panel of the train wall up and revealing platters upon platters of food. “Well, eat what you want. Your mentor should be here any minute.”

She vaguely sees Effie leave them alone, but Tobin can’t stop looking at the food. Not because it looks or smells delicious, because it does, but there’s so much of it. She hasn’t seen that amount in one sitting in years.

Her first instinct is to dig into things she would never normally get, but her mother’s voice in the back of her mind talks her out of it; if she eats too rich of food after nothing but a diet built on bland starches, she’ll be sick.

Tobin resists the urge to throw the potatoes out the window, and instead searches for an alternative. She finds a bowl of a pearly white grain she doesn’t recognize, but it looks bland enough, so she scoops some into her plate. She spoons a bit of what looks like stew onto the grain, and indulges in a chocolate cupcake that looks to be sprinkled in gold.

Next, she joins Christen at a table with various drinks. There’s tea, hot chocolate, and a few clear glass bottles filled with colorful liquids.

“What is that?” she whispers.

“I have no idea,” Christen admits.

She decides against risking death before the games have even started, and instead pours herself a mug of hot chocolate.

As soon as she takes a seat in the armchairs, the door opens again, and Heather Mitts walks in. Past victors always mentor the current tributes. Normally, the reaped tributes get to choose theirs out of a selection, but district 12 only has 1 living victor. So, Heather it is.

Heather fixes herself a plate of pastries and a pours herself a cup of the bright orange mystery drink. Only after she’s sat down and taken a bite of a cookie does she speak. “What skills do you have to offer?”

Silence.

“Um, I can ride horses,” Tobin says.

Christen turns to look at her in disbelief before saying, “My parents run a bakery?”

“Oh yeah,” Tobin adds, “I know a bit about, like, medicine and patching up wounds, and I’m good with spears. I used to fish and then just kept practicing hitting targets for fun.”

Heather nods appreciatively. “Not sure if there’ll be horses or a kitchen, but you’ll need to know how to treat and dress inevitable injuries, and spears are a pretty versatile weapon."

“Honestly, I don’t really have any skills,” Christen says with a shrug.

“That’s not true,” Tobin says. Heather turns to her with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, I’ve seen you carry around giant bags of flour and stuff. You must be strong.”

Christen doesn’t look convinced, but Heather nods. “Never underestimate the power of natural strength.”

Through the window, Tobin can see they’ve passed district 12’s border, and are in district 11. 12 is the furthest from the Capitol with 1 being the closest. It is the least monitored, but also the least supplied; unlike the closer ones, like the Career districts.

Districts 1, 2, and 4 make up the Careers. They always stick together during the games, and the victor is always one of them. They’re the tributes that have been training since birth.

“We’ll talk strategy later,” Heather decides. “Get some sleep, the first thing you’ll be doing is meeting your stylists, and you should be well rested for that.”

 _Stylists?_ Tobin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

Her stylist ends up being a man named Cinna. She'd anticipated someone with too much makeup and too much color, but he's the opposite. Tasteful. Classy. He’s not heavily tattooed or dressed in the signature Capitol clothing, but instead wears tight fitting black pants and a simple black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His one bit of makeup is gold eyeliner, but the contrast against his dark skin is nice, and it looks good.

His workers remove every bit of hair from Tobin’s body, which she’s not too pleased about because “how am I supposed to keep warm without my fur?”

They poke and prod and try out a million different looks on her. None of them seem right, but at the end of the third hour, Cinna looks tired, and dismisses all of them.

Tobin walks with a slight huff to the quarters she will share with Heather, Effie, and Christen for the next couple days before the games. Each district gets a full floor to lodge the tributes, the mentors, and occasionally the stylists.

She retreats to her room immediately and occupies herself with pressing every button she can find. After spending a solid five minutes turning off and on every light twice, she moves to the bathroom. It’s bigger than her entire room back home. She experiments with all the different settings of water temperature and pressure and soaps and oils and bubbles and steam until she’s covered in bath material and has to take a shower.

Tobin knew the Capitol lived in luxury, but this is a whole new level. She’s seen people here eat two bites and then order something new. Effie bragged for an hour about how she’s never had to wear an outfit more than once, and the fact that they entertain themselves with watching kids kill each other says enough by itself.

Finally, Effie calls her to dinner, where Heather is already waiting, along with Cinna and Portia, Christen’s stylist.

The first course is served, a creamy orange soup with a little sprinkle of something green in the center, and they begin to talk strategy.

“Right now, we have three things to worry about,” Heather says. Tobin refrains from saying that _she_ has a lot more than three things that are concerning her at the moment, but shuts herself up with another spoonful of soup. “One, your interview with Cesar Flickerman. Two, the training sessions. And three, your performances for the gamemakers.”

Cesar Flickerman is a reality TV show host for the Capitol. He also assists with the games by giving two minute interviews with each tribute to help them win sponsors. He has a bright white smile and a laidback look to him. Tobin finds him highly annoying.

As for the training sessions; the tributes get three of them. They’re mixed with the other districts, and there are about twenty different stations teaching them about hand to hand combat or edible plants or knot tying.

Mostly, they’re for tributes to intimidate the other ones.

And finally, the performances. Each tribute gets to show off a skill for the gamemakers, and later, they’re rated out of twelve. This, too, brings sponsors. The higher the number, the higher chance the gamemakers think they have of winning.

“I think my priority is finding a look for Tobin,” Cinna says carefully as bowls are cleared and replaced with a small plate of greens and various tiny vegetables. “She didn’t seem too keen on my suggestions today...”

“I’m not wearing a dress,” she says, stuffing a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“Which is fine,” he says reassuringly, “but it’s important.”

Really, the games are about who can kill someone else most creatively, but sponsors are also a big part. Tobin knows the more sponsors, the more money Heather can use to send her and Christen things like food and water or high tech medicines they won’t be able to get in the arena otherwise.

“If you want sponsors and you’re not a Career, you need to look good,” Heather agrees.

“How come Alex Morgan gets to be both?” Tobin grumbles. “Unfair.” She shoves a piece of fish into her mouth before realizing everyone is staring at her. “What?”

“Thank you for saying that, Tobin. I just realized how to get you sponsors,” Heather says proudly. Her grin fades. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“What?” she says again impatiently.

“Well, everyone loves a good Romeo and Juliet story, right?” she says.

“A what and what?” Tobin looks at her blankly.

“It’s a really old, really bad play, don’t worry about it. Two lovers kept apart because of societal constructs,” Heather explains. “What better example of that than two tributes from opposite districts?”

Tobin stews on it over a bite of pepper and then it dawns on her. “Wait, you want me to pretend I’m _in love_ with _Alex_ to get people to feel sorry for me and send me things?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Tobin,” Heather pleads. “All you have to do is mention her briefly in your interview with Cesar. I’ll do the rest. Maybe I can work something out with her mentor and get them in on it.”

“She’d never go for that,” Tobin says, shaking her head. “Like I said, she’s got enough sponsors just by existing with the face that she has. On top of that she’s a Career, from district 1 no less, and apparently she knows six ways to kill someone with a fork.”

“Too bad you don’t have any cool talents like that,” Heather says. “So we’re back to square one.”

The morning of their first training session, Tobin’s body wakes her at five in the morning despite Heather telling them to get a good night’s sleep. Habit, she guesses, from years of waking up at dawn to take care of the livestock.

Right now, her family is getting ready for the day. They’ll have their breakfast of tesserae grain cooked in milk, and then Perry and Jeffrey will go off to school. Will he walk her the whole way like Tobin always did? Will he make sure she has enough to eat at lunch? Will he wait for her outside her classroom at the end of the day?

Or will they still be in bed?

Perhaps Tobin’s parents are still blanket cocooning themselves away from the world now that their daughter has been reaped. Maybe her siblings are following suit with nobody to look after them.

Tobin pushes those thoughts from her mind, and busies herself with getting dressed in the outfit Cinna has set out for her. Simple black pants that are skin tight and stretchy, and a black shirt with the district 12 crest in silver on her left breast. The material feels like silk, but looks like cotton.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail and goes into the main room where a breakfast of about thirty different dishes are laid out. Tobin pushes away her guilt as she thinks about her starving district and eats three plates of pastry and fruit, but in the back of her mind, she sees the little boy holding his hand out for money or food.

If she’d known what was going to happen, she would have given him anything.

Finally, she sits with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of about five rolls.

By the time the clock rolls around to seven, Heather and Christen come in. They chat while fixing themselves their plates, and then sit at the table with Tobin.

“How's the bread?” Christen asks.

“Good...” Tobin says slowly.

“Better than mine?” Christen pops a bite of strawberry into her mouth and winks.

Tobin feels herself blush. Clearing her throat, she says, “So, tips on training today?”

“Learn what you’re good at,” Heather says.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you know a thing or two about medicine and spears, so go there,” she explains. “Pretend to be confused. Maybe mess up a little. Pretend you’re really trying to learn.”

“Shouldn’t we be _actually_ learning?” Christen chimes in.

“You won’t.” Heather takes a bite of a strip of meat. “There’s no way you’ll get good enough at something to benefit you. Might as well just try to throw them off.” She points her fork at Tobin, then Christen, then Tobin five times. “And remember. No fighting.”

Easier said than done.

First thing Tobin does when she enters the training room is bump into a Career. “Sorry,” she mutters, trying to head to the medicinal plant station.  
“Excuse me?” the Career says. Her hair is obviously brown, but bleached blonde, and it’s cropped short except for the top, which hangs into her face.

“I said ‘I’m sorry,’” Tobin repeats. Rolling her eyes, she mutters, “Jeez, what crawled up _your_ ass and died?”

Christen nudges her, but it’s too late. The Career grabs her arm and pulls her towards her. Tobin doesn’t know if she should try to throw a punch or pretend to pass out and die. Instead, she goes for the middleground and just lets her body go limp.

She braces herself for a punch from what looks like a very muscled arm, but a soft raspy voice begins speaking instead. “Abby, chill. Save it for the games.”

Tobin looks up. It’s Alex Morgan.

Abby lets her go and Tobin makes a show of straightening her shirt. She knows she’s pushing it, but she says, “Yeah, Abby. Chill. And maybe tell your stylist they forgot to touch up your roots.”

She starts towards Tobin again, but Alex’s hand on her shoulder stops her. She just shows Tobin her fist and walks away, leaving Tobin alone with Alex.

“Be careful, Twelve,” Alex says. “Abby won’t forget this in the arena, and I won’t stop her there.”

Tobin nods. Alex’s voice is stern, but there’s an amused look in her eye, and as she turns away, Tobin swears she sees a smile.

She watches Alex inspect the selection of practice knives until a shoulder bump from Christen pulls her out of it. “Stop staring at your girlfriend, it’s creepy.”

“Very funny,” Tobin says sarcastically. Christen throws her a smile

On the final day, the tributes only get half of a training session, and the other half of the day is devoted to the demonstrations in front of the gamemakers. Each tribute is then rated on a scale of 1 to 12, with 1 being the worst, and 12 being the best.

Starting from district 1 and ending in district 12, they’re called in one by one. Twelve is the last in a lot of things. 

“Remember to lift some weights and stuff,” Tobin whispers to Christen.

She nods. “And you... throw straight?” It comes out as more of a question, but Tobin smiles.

First to be called is Alex Morgan.

Of course.

She walks with a confidence Tobin could only dream of achieving, with a slight spring in her step and a sway in her gait. She passed by the table that Tobin and Christen are sitting at, and pauses for a second.

Tobin gulps as their eyes meet. She actually considers that Alex might punch her, but she just throws her one blue eyed wink and then continues on her way.

She and Christen get the liberty of sitting and waiting for 22 other people to go in before they do. The tributes are called in sporadically, some five minutes apart, and one nearly an hour later. She takes the time to have a good look at all of them.

From one is Alex Morgan and Kelley O’Hara. Alex is... well, she’s Alex, but Kelley is another matter. She doesn’t really seem like the killing type, but she _is_ a Career, and she does look the most physically fit of all of them.

Hope Solo and Carli Lloyd come from two. They stick together, and don’t talk to the other Careers, which is rare. If Tobin had to bet, she’d put money on Hope and Alex being the last two in the arena.

Tobin always wondered why the Career districts skip three, especially because this year’s tributes from three definitely look like Career material. Becky Sauerbrunn and Ali Krieger. Both have perpetually stoic expressions and a certain toughness about them. She wonders if they’ll join up with the Careers, as it seems 2 has abandoned them.

Abby Wambach and her partner, Sydney Leroux, from four seem to be good candidates, but Sydney smiles too much to be the kind of cold-blooded you need to be to win, and Abby is too impulsive. Tobin can just see her taking on too many people at once and dying. She sort of hopes that’s what happens, because she has zero chance against her.

Honestly, Tobin isn’t sure if she prefers tributes she think might live or ones she know will be killed off. Lauren Cheney and Amy Rodriguez from five are just too nice, and Tobin wishes they were more like Abby so she wouldn’t feel as bad about them dying.

Emily Sonnett and Morgan Brian come from six, two Meg(h)ans from seven, two smiley blondes named Julie Johnston and Kealia Ohai from eight, Lindsey Horan and Ashlyn Harris from nine, and Heather O’Reilly and Crystal Dunn from eleven.

Then, there’s the two kids from ten.

Of course, they’re all kids, but the rest of the tributes are at least fifteen. These two are twelve, and honestly, Tobin’s pretty sure the both of them don’t look older than nine. Lives of not being fed well and having to work in the fields all day have made them skinny.

Jessie Fleming and Mallory Pugh.

They’re quick enough on their feet, Tobin will give them that. She’s seen them walk around the training room with footsteps light as a feather, and caught them scaling the climbing wall in seconds before spider jumping nimbly to the ground.

Still, the odds are definitely not in their favors.

And then there’s Christen, who doesn’t know how to fight or even hold a spear, obviously. She’s too nice. Tobin knows she won’t win, and she only wishes she didn’t care so much.

“Tobin Heath.”

She smiles at Christen, though it’s more of a grimace, and makes her way to the gamemaker’s room. Her walk seems much longer than it actually is, and before she knows it, she’s entering.

Instantly, she takes in the scene of the several empty jugs of wine and knows they won’t be much of an audience at this point. Really, who can blame them? District 12 has only had 1 victor ever, and even then it took ninety-eight years.

Still, she walks over to the spears. Picking one up, she wishes she’d practiced a little because she knows they’re much different than hers at home. The shape and feel is much more refined, and Tobin’s first throw doesn’t even stick in the target. The few gamemakers who were actually watching have now lost interest.

Gritting her teeth, Tobin throws a few more until she’s gotten used to the new spears and nails her final three throws into the bullseye of a few standup dummies.

Nobody’s watching.

Heather’s voice in her head is begging her to just leave it and go. To accept a bad score, but come back from it another way. If Tobin has a good interview, she could probably get at least one sponsor.

But if Tobin’s going to die, and she _is_ going to die, she figures she might as well do it with purpose. She grabs a heavier spear and holds it in her hands.

The gamemakers are crowded around a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth. She finds the balance point, grabs it a little further back, and launches it up at them.

She skewers the apple into the wall behind the big and smiles. Not bad.

The gamemakers don’t have the same reaction. They just stand there in shock. One actually gasps. Tobin raises her eyebrows. “Thank you for your consideration,” she says. She exits with an exaggerated curtsy.

Everyone is waiting for her back in their quarters. Tobin is still feeling the adrenaline and half expects a Peacemaker to come arrest her, but she figures the gamemakers will just get back at her by torturing her in the arena. Feral pigs, maybe. That would be funny.

“So,” Heather says, “how was it?” An Avox serves them their first dish of clear broth with little mushrooms in it. Tobin deliberately takes a large mouthful, forcing Christen to go first.

Christen shoots her a look and puts her spoon down. “It was okay. I threw around some heavy weights and painted a bit in the camouflage section, but I don’t think they were that impressed.”

“Tobin?” Heather prompts.

“I threw a spear at them,” she mumbles into her soup.

“I’m sorry?”

“I threw a spear at them,” Tobin says loudly.

All five heads turn to look at her like she’s crazy. They all start talking at once, yelling at her about how that was completely stupid, like Tobin doesn’t know it, and that it probably cost her any hope of a good sponsor, which she also knows, until finally, Cinna makes them shut up.

“Look,” he says, “I’m sure Tobin knows it was a bad idea. Right?” he asks pointedly.

“ _Yes_ ,” she says with a huff. “They weren’t paying attention to me, so I speared the apple out of their stupid pig’s mouth.”

Heather takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes for three seconds, and then opens them with a smile on her face. “That’s okay. You’ll get a bad score, but I’ll help you back from that on one condition,” she adds sternly. “You _have_ to play up a fake crush to Alex.”

“I already told you no,” Tobin says as an Avox clears her soup and brings out a baked potato with little dishes of sides. She spreads some butter and something called sour cream on hers before taking a big bite. “I’m going to die anyway. Who cares if I get sponsors?”

“What if...,” Portia begins. She pauses, then says, “Well, what if you have Christen pretend to have a crush on Tobin instead of Tobin having a crush on Alex.”

“What?”

“ _Clearly_ you’re not being very cooperative, but from what it sounds like, both of you are going to get low scores, and this could save both you _and_ Christen,” Portia says. She shrugs. “You’re right, Alex probably has fifty sponsors lined up already. She doesn’t need this.”

“Okay,” Christen says. She returns to her potato.

“Are you kidding?” Tobin asks incredulously.

Christen glances up. “What? It’s not for real, and we could use all the help we can get.”

Tobin huffs.

“Don’t be a child,” Heather says.

She huffs louder.

After dinner, they gather in front of the screen that will televise their scores. Alex gets an eleven, Abby a ten. Finally, they get to twelve. Christen receives a six.

“A six!” Effie says excitedly. “That’s not that bad. Average! A six!”

Tobin’s name flashes on the screen, and then... a twelve.

They’re all silent.

“A twelve,” Cinna says slowly. “Why? You tried to kill them.”

“I didn’t try to _kill_ them,” Tobin mutters.

“To make the other tributes go after you you,” Heather realizes. “Nobody gets a score that high. Eleven is basically the best score possible, even though _technically_ you can get a twelve. They’re going to want to eliminate you first.”

Awesome.

Now she has a target on her back.

The next day she finds herself in a women’s suit adorned with flame colored trimmings. The top half of hair has been twisted up into some ridiculous thing that has been held together with about a million little tiny pins that are all somehow invisible.

She joins Christen in the waiting room for the interviews where there’s a large screen giving them a recording of the stage.

“You look really nice,” Tobin says quietly.

Christen looks at her in surprise. “Thanks, Tobin. You look really good too.”

Tobin smiles gently and refocuses on the screen.

Cesar Flickerman is just as annoying as every year. He always designs his makeup after his suit color, and this year it’s purple. His eyebrows are dusted in something sparkly and lilac, his hair has probably been dyed, and his eyes are lined with purple. If that wasn’t bad enough, he has a Capitol accent to the max.

He welcomes everyone to the 100th hunger games, as usual, and then calls up his first tribute.

Alex Morgan takes the stage. She wears a dress that leaves very little to the imagination, and it’s clear her stylist had no trouble finding her a look. It shows off her body to appeal to sponsors who care very little about the winner and more about physicality, but also makes it obvious that she _is_ fit and could win.

Then Abby.

District 2 and 3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

A hush falls over the crowd as little Jessie Fleming trots onto the stage and with a determined look in her eye tells people she’s going to win. She’s got big brown eyes and reminds Tobin a little of a baby deer that came to visit district 12 on the other side of the fence.

Christen lets out a sigh beside her. They share a glance, and Tobin knows what they’re both thinking; _she’s going to die_.

Hesitantly, Tobin takes Christen’s hand and squeezes it, asking silently if it’s okay. Christen lets her head fall onto her shoulder gratefully, and Tobin feels a tightness in her chest dissipating.

District eleven goes, and then Tobin is called up.

She walks as confidently as she can, though she still hasn’t mastered high heels quite yet. Taking a seat besides Cesar, she grips the armrest to ground herself.

“Hello, Tobin,” Cesar says. He grins at her, and she tries not to look as uneasy as she feels. “You’ve been quite the center of attention lately, volunteering for a little girl and then scoring a twelve. Tell me, how did you manage that?”

“Uh...” Tobin isn’t sure if Capitol citizens will be amused or horrified, so she just says, “I think that’ll be my little secret.” The audience boos good naturedly, and Tobin throws them a grin. “Sorry, maybe when I win I’ll tell you.” Cheers.

“ _When_ you win?” Cesar looks delighted to get something to work with, but there’s also a hint of surprise in his tone. “So, you think you can take on all the other tributes?”

“I think I have as good a chance as any,” she says confidently. She really has no idea why she’s saying this stuff because it’ll be obvious as soon as the games start that she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing, but it’s making the crowd happy and Heather looks content in the audience.

“Any tributes you think you need to look out for?” Cesar prods. “Abby... Ali... Alex Morgan, maybe?” Her head turns. Not a lot, but enough that Cesar catches it. “Ah.”

Her mouth feels dry, and she feels herself losing any bit of confidence she had. “Well, she is certainly a... formidable opponent.”

“She seems very capable,” Cesar agrees. He squints just a tiny bit. “And pretty, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Well, I mean, I mean, yes, I guess so,” Tobin fumbles. She hears Heather’s voice in the back of her head begging her to get it together. She takes a deep breath. “And she’s very strong, so she’s going to harder to win against.”

“Strong, eh?” Cesar says with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean, I don’t really know her, but she seemed strong in our training sessions, and her dress tonight, well, obviously she has muscles.” This is what Tobin calls word vomit. _Obviously she has muscles? Really, Tobin?_ she thinks. _Of course she has muscles, she’s not a tree._

“Yes, her dress was very pretty,” Cesar agrees. “Thank her stylist for that.”

“She’ll be a difficult opponent to defeat,” Tobin repeats, not knowing what else to do.

The buzzer sounds.

The audience boos.

Cesar dismisses her, and she leaves.

Backstage, she’s instantly bombarded by her team.

“Tobin, I thought you didn’t want to do the crush thing?” Heather said. “I mean, you did it very well, _I_ was convinced, but we should have talked about it.”

“What do you mean?” Tobin asks, confused.

“What do I...,” she trails off. “I mean what you said. About her being pretty and her dress.”

Tobin tries to fight off the blush rising in her cheeks. “Oh, but Cesar led me to that, I didn’t really say it.”

Heather opens her mouth again, but Portia shushes them, and they turn back to the screen to watch Christen’s interview.

And she is quite the charmer. In a bright red dress, she looks absolutely captivating. Her grin is wide, showing off her cute little mismatched two front teeth, and Cesar is having a field day with it, working the crowd easily.

Finally, when the cheers subside, he lowers his voice and asks, “So, Christen. Pretty girl like you, you must have a special someone back home.”

Christen blushes on command, and Tobin is impressed with her acting abilities. “Oh, well, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

The audience oohs and aahs.

“Well, I don’t think she feels the same,” she says, “and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Cesar asks. “You just have to win, and then she’ll have to go for you. I mean, Christen Press, the second district 12 victor _ever_.”

“I’m afraid that would just make the problem worse,” Christen says with a chuckle. “Because she’s here tonight.”

“Oh my,” he says. “Well, you two are just full of surprises.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter,” Christen says, an embarrassed little smile on her face.

“But it does! It does!” Cesar says. The buzzer sounds. “Well, best of luck to you, Christen, in every way.”

She thanks him, and gives the crowd a little wave as she disappears backstage.

Already, she’s freaking out. “I’m sorry, Heather, I just didn’t know what else to do ‘cause that’s all we talked about.”

“It’s okay, Christen,” she says soothingly, “you did great.”

“You’re a really good actor,” Tobin chimes in.

Christen gives her a strange look but says, “Thanks. You too.”

Heather joins Effie, Cinna, and Portia over to the side discussing new tactics for the sponsors, leaving Christen and Tobin alone.

“The crowd loved you,” Tobin offers. Christen gives her a small smile. "I know that got you a bunch of spons--"

“Pleased to know I’m a formidable opponent,” a voice says behind Tobin.

She spins, and is suddenly five inches away from Alex Morgan. She feels her heart start pounding and blames it on being startled. “Oh, hi.”

“You said you liked my dress, so I thought you could have a look in person,” she offers, spinning slowly.

Tobin blushes. “I, uh, I mean... it’s nice.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. She eyes Tobin up and down. “You look pretty good, too, though I wish the suit wasn’t covering so much.” Tobin widens her eyes. Alex leans closer. “So I could analyze my opponent better, of course.” She spins again, and then walks away, tossing over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”

Tobin’s face is still red when she turns back to Christen. “Wow, I mean, Alex is really... confident.”

Christen doesn’t even attempt a smile, just grumbles, “Yeah, have fun with her. I’m going to bed.”

“What? Chris, what did I say?” Tobin calls after her. Christen doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“What, girl trouble?” Heather says with a grin. She pats Tobin on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll all probably be dead in a week.”

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I Hate This!! but also i got tired of looking at it n i just wanna get to the games ;((
> 
> thanks for reading tho!! sorry if ur faves are gonna die. check my character tags to see who lives past the first day lolololol


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was going to be up like the day after my last update but i am just In Love with Ruining My Own Life n after drafting & editing this entire chapter in like 3 hours i accidentally deleted it :’) so that’s how my 2017 is going hbu

Cinna wakes Tobin just before dawn.

She’d normally be up already because of her wacked internal clock, but she had tossed and turned until three in the morning the night before, worrying. She'd known this kind of late night anxiety before. Back in the districts, she lay awake in bed late into the night at least once a week concerned about food or other necessities, but this was different. This was anxiety she was supposed to use all on herself and  _her_ survival; for once, she didn't need to take care of her family.

And yet, she still worried about them about them. Then, she worried about the arena, then her family, then the arena, and on and on. Every time she felt herself about to relax enough to drift off, her thoughts would trail back to the games, and her heart would start racing again.

She can’t imagine what the gamemakers have dreamt up for them this year. It’ll be designed to be survivable, of course; she knows the gamemakers have stopped putting them in frozen wastelands or deserts with no water. They did that a few times before, and all the tributes died within the first two days of natural causes. In other words, boring.

That doesn’t change the fact that she’s scared about not being able to find a safe place to spend her nights. There will likely be some forest, which is her best bet, but she can’t climb a tree for shit.

  
Suddenly, she finds herself jealous of twelve year olds. More specifically, one Mallory Pugh and Jessie Fleming who scampered up the climbing wall as easily as they breathed. If you can’t be caught, you can’t be killed.

She’s still half asleep as Cinna leads her to the roof. They’re waiting just five seconds when a hovercraft appears, and watching it land clears her head a little more. It reminds her about what's in store.

She puts her hand on the ladder to begin climbing up, but her body is frozen as soon as her foot touches the bottom rung.

She feels herself being lifted into the aircraft where a woman in all white waits. She holds up what looks like a gun and says, “A tracker for the arena. It’s easier if you try to stay still.”

 _Try?_   Tobin’s a statue. The tracker leaves a small bump on her forearm; a dangerous place for a tribute to try and cut it out. It ensures the gamemakers know where everybody is so they can quickly collect bodies, make sure the camera follow everyone, and keep things interesting.

Sometimes, especially near the middle or end, when most of the tributes are gone, too many start occupying themselves with surviving instead of hunting down other tributes. It gets boring if nobody dies two days in a row, so the gamemakers, being able to see where everyone is, can drive them closer together with some fabricated threat; they control the whole arena and can add or take away things as they choose, the same way they do the districts.

Finally, whatever has its hold on her releases Tobin’s body, and at the woman’s instruction, she straps herself into one of the seats. Cinna sits across from her, and Tobin can feel his eyes on her as she watches the sky. After a few minutes, she feels the hovercraft take off, and she turns to him. “Where’s Christen?”

“You’ll see her in the arena,” he says.

Then they’re silent.

It’s likely their last day together, but for some reason, it seems there’s nothing to say.

A table of breakfast dishes rise from the ground. She can see and smell eggs, bacon, potatoes, fruit, waffles, and everything else imaginable, but Tobin can’t bring herself to eat. Cinna urges her, and eventually, she stacks a couple of rolls on a plate with a mug of hot chocolate.

The hovercraft deposits them in the catacombs of the arena, which consist of a series of tunnels connecting twenty-four underground launch rooms, one for each tribute to prepare in. Cinna brings Tobin to her launch room that has her name engraved on the stone next to the door.

Tobin takes in the sight of a bed, bathroom, some food. She realizes she is the first tribute to see this room, and will also be the last. Each arena is preserved as a part of history, and they construct a new one every year.

The arenas are popular tourist destinations, and as this is a quarter quell, it will be greatly visited in the future. She can just imagine Capitol families looking through this room, rewatching her death or her kills, and the children acting out reenactments while their parents watch.

After that, they’ll dine on an eight course meal in a restaurant constructed next to what would have been the Cornucopia, only yards away from the Capitol lead massacre of innocents.

Then, they’ll go home, perfectly content that to them, this is only a TV show. Being born in the Capitol has given them the privilege of never having to go through a reaping.

She excuses herself to have a shower, and Cinna nods, taking a seat with a cup of tea. She steps under the warm stream, knowing this is likely her last shower ever. The spray calms her, providing a light pressure that allows her to get lost in her imagination.

She wonders how on Earth she’s going to bring herself to kill someone. Of course, she knows if it came down to it she would, but how she’ll live with it is beyond her. She smiles faintly. It’s doubtful she’ll live long enough to develop survivor’s guilt; a blessing in disguise, maybe.

Eventually, the collected steam makes her dizzy, so Tobin turns off the water and towels herself off. She gets dressed slowly in the same tribute clothing everyone else will wear; pants and belt, simple shirt, boots, and a jacket with a hood designed to repel sun and trap body heat.

Tobin slips back into the main room and lets Cinna begin brushing out her hair.

“Do you have a district token?” Cinna asks quietly.

Tobin shakes her head. Each tribute is allowed a small object to bring with them in the games, but Tobin had nothing to take.

He shrugs. “Just as well. Most don’t make it past security because there’s always the ones who try to hide weapons. Like that girl from 1, Alex Morgan. She tried to bring a ring, but they discovered the top popped off and had a hidden poisoned spike. Eventually, they let her have it, but only after removing the spike.”

Tobin can only wonder why on Earth Alex would need an advantage at all.

“So... anything else?” he asks. Tobin shakes her head. “Think you can eat?” Another shake of the head. “Well, a glass of water at least?”

She accepts it, and takes tiny sips, waiting for the call to enter the launch tube. Despite tributes having to be in their launch rooms by seven in the morning, the games don’t start until ten because most Capitol citizens prefer to sleep in.

It’s quiet, and Tobin has no idea of what time it is because they have no windows in this underground room. Finally, Cinna speaks again. “It’s around 9:45. How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” Tobin admits. She allows herself a small smile. “Scared to _death_.”

Cinna gives her a look. “Just remember what Heather said; you and Christen need to go find water and shelter immediately, together. Do _not_ go to the Cornucopia,” he says sternly.

The Cornucopia is in the center of the arena. It’s a giant, metal horn filled with all sorts of supplies you can’t get anywhere else, except maybe a sponsor. Weapons, non-perishable food, iodine to purify water, clothing. The further inside the horn, the more valuable.

It’s almost tradition for tributes to fight over it in the first hour or so of the games. In the districts, it’s known as the Bloodbath, as it’s usually the most amount of deaths in the smallest amount of time.

It also occupies the attention of the Careers, and anyone willing to kill for something, and gives everyone else a head start into the arena. Heather is counting on that hour or two for Christen and Tobin to survive at least the first day, maybe two, and Tobin nods because Heather is right; first she needs to live, _then_ she can think about going on the offense if she needs to.

Tobin is shaken out of her daydream as a calm, soft, female voice asks her to please step into the launch tube. “At least she said ‘please,’” she mutters.

Cinna helps her step up onto the circular platform. His eyes are sad, but his mouth smiles. He gently smooths down a couple flyaway strands of hair. “Good luck, Tobin. I’ll talk you up to some of the richer Capitol citizens, get you sponsors. You can do this.”

She just smiles faintly, not sure if he really believes it or if he’s trying to convince himself. Maybe both. A glass tube slides up from below, cutting them off. She sees him mouth, _Christen. Water. Hiding place._

Then, the metal circle below her feet raises her into the air, away from Cinna, and into the arena.

Tobin is temporarily blinded by the sunlight and a strong wind makes her reground herself to avoid toppling off her base. A loud, booming voice fills the air. “Ladies and gentleman, let the one-hundredth hunger games begin!”

Every tribute must stand on their base for sixty seconds until the sound of a gong releases them. Anyone who steps off earlier will trigger a landmine and get blown up. It gives tributes time to orient themselves, locate any allies they’ve decided beforehand, and strategize for one final minute now that they have seen the landscape.

Tobin is going through Heather’s instructions again when she sees a backpack. A bright yellow backpack just yards away from her lying carelessly outside the Cornucopia. She could get it, and _then_ go. No fighting.

But behind her is a forest, and that’s where she knows Heather is begging her and Christen to go.

 _Christen_.

Tobin snaps her head to the side and finds Christen three tributes away. She’s already staring at Tobin and shaking her head slightly; she knows what Tobin is considering.

The gong goes off.

Tobin runs towards the backpack.

She scoops up a loaf of bread and a packet of something, probably food, on her way, and stuffs it into the pack as soon as she gets there.

A hand grabs onto one of the straps; Kealia Ohai from 8. Tobin knows she should just let it go, but she can’t; she keeps holding on, and is honestly about to lose their wrestling match for it, when Kealia stumbles forward making guttural choking noises.

She coughs up some blood, then releases her grip, and falls to the ground, where Tobin sees a blade sticking out. Red is already soaking into jacket as she chokes in her own blood on the grass. _Jesus._

Slinging the backpack on, she grabs two knives Kealia has stuck into her belt already and slides them into hers. She glances up, and instantly makes eye contact with Ashlyn Harris from 9. She’s holding a spear. Tobin grits her teeth. It should be hers.

Her anger subsides to panic when she realizes Ashlyn is aiming said spear _at her_. She backs up slowly, suddenly incapable of running, when an arrow flies out of nowhere, striking Ashlyn right in the side of the head. She’s already launched the spear, but Tobin can see her form has been incorrect to begin with, and the arrow has made her lose her grip just enough for the spear to fall short of Tobin.

It’s only five feet away.

Before she can even consider going to get it, Kelley O’Hara picks it up and smiles at.

Tobin turns and runs.

She stumbles blindly over a rock, leaps over a dead body, trips on someone's hand, and then takes off at a full sprint away from the Cornucopia.

As she’s reaching the trees, she briefly registers that she has no idea where Christen is. She also realizes that she’s almost positive the girl who shot the arrow had a dark, swinging ponytail, and icy blue eyes.

It was Alex.

She never got a good look at the girl's face, but she's sure of it. 

She turns around, running backwards for a few seconds. Several tributes already lie dead on the ground. The rest are still slicing away at each other. A few tributes are running into the trees, and she’s pretty sure someone is actually swimming into the lake.

She shakes her head; knowing the gamemakers, there’s probably zombie sharks or something in the water.

Turning around, she pats the two weapons at her belt, and once she’s a few yards into the trees, she slows to a pace she can maintain for a while. A smile finds its way onto her face; things could definitely be better, but she's got two knives and a backpack full of... stuff. She's not sure what yet.

Still, everything is useless without something to keep her hydrated.

Heather gave her three instructions; stay with Christen, don’t go to the Cornucopia, and find water first. As Tobin has completely disregarded the first two, she silently promises Heather to fulfill at least one piece of advice.

She walks for a bit, runs for a bit, walks some more, runs some more. No sign of water. Plenty of wildlife, though. She’s already seen a few squirrels, a bunny, and even deer family that fled as soon as they heard her footsteps snapping twigs and crunching leaves.

Tobin knows Christen’s family and her family are watching. They’re probably mostly airing the Bloodbath right now on the big screen where the reaping took place, but will show her for a bit, just to let people know she’s alive and moving.

She hopes Christen is doing the same.

Tobin is about two hours into the woods when she hears the canons begin, each one signalling a dead tribute; the Bloodbath is over. Hovercrafts will pick up the bodies soon.

She pauses against a tree to count the canons. One... two... three... they keep coming until they reach eight. Then silence. Eight dead, eighteen remaining.

Hoping Christen isn’t among the eight, she keeps going, only stopping to rest under a tree when she’s sure she’s far away from anyone else. The Careers will be sorting their supplies, and the rest will be trying to find somewhere for the night.

She opens the backpack to take inventory; a sleeping bag, bottle of iodine, packet of about five crackers, four strips of dried meat, some matches, a canteen, some sunglasses. Then, there's the small loaf of bread she picked up, the packet of something, which turns out to be five more dried meat pieces, and the two knives she took from the tribute from 8.

She rubs the backpack in the dirt as best she can to try to at least dampen the fluorescent yellow that will likely be reflective in the dark. She wishes she had some mud, but for mud she has to have water, and, well...

She glares at the canteen. It would have taken them five seconds for them to fill the damn thing.

Tobin knows she’ll die in a week at most without something to drink, but takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Leaning on a tree, she rationalizes. Either she’ll be the only one having a problem with finding water, and Heather will send her some, or everyone will, and the gamemakers will make it rain or something to ensure everyone survives and their deaths are entertaining.

Tobin starts repacking everything, but right as she's stuffing the sleeping bag in, she remembers the lake; right next to the Cornucopia. It’s possible the Careers won’t risk not having another water source, and are setting up camp there, and if there _isn't_ more water, that ensures everyone will either dehydrate or get killed off trying to get lake water.

Great.

Still, Tobin saw deer and squirrels; wildlife has to drink, too. There _has_ to be more.

Counting on that, she continues walking, until she sees a faint grayness over the landscape, and realizes night has begun to fall. She scowls, thinking about the two kids from ten probably safely nestled in their trees for the night.

She looks around, but forest is all there is as far as she can see, and Tobin can’t camp out on the ground; the Careers will be fed and watered with fancy weapons they’re itching to try out.

Tobin finds a sturdy willow and grabs onto a thick branch. She wraps her arm around it and holds onto it as she walks herself along the trunk up, and then swings her legs over so she’s sitting on the branch.

She stands on the branch carefully, and then repeats, grabbing onto a branch and holding onto it as she pulls herself up. She must look absolutely idiotic and hopes they're not showing her right now. She curses herself for never bothering to learn to climb trees, but though she scrapes her hands a bit, she finds herself high enough that she can see, but will be concealed in the leaves.

How she’s going to get down, she has no idea, but that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

Tobin shimmies into her sleeping bag and uses her belt to strap herself to the tree, She stuffs her backpack into her bag, and pulls her hood on, knowing the gamemakers always make it beyond freezing at night.

By now, the stars have begun to come out, and so the anthem of Panem begins for the death recap of the day. Eight tributes will have their pictures shown in the sky to let their fellow tributes know who’s left.

Tobin holds her breath as the portrait of the girl from 8, Kealia Ohai, appears. Her name and district is under her picture, and after a few seconds, she fades away. Then, Ashlyn Harris from 9. Heather O’Reilly from 10, both Meg(h)ans from 7, Sydney Leroux from 4, and Carli Lloyd from 2.

The anthem ends. No Christen.

Tobin breathes a sigh of relief before wondering how on Earth _she’s_ still alive, but two _Careers_ are not.

Lying back in her bag, content that Christen is still out there along with the two kids from 10, she’s sure she won’t get any sleep. But as she lets herself relax, she feels the day’s exertion catch up to her, and she drifts off.

She wakes with the first light of dawn. Her nose is numb and her lips feel dry, but in her sleeping bag, she's warm.

Her stomach rumbles as she packs up her stuff and slides branch by branch to the ground, so she lets herself have a dried meat strip. It quiets her hunger, but does little for her thirst.

She hikes along in the cool morning air, but she knows it will get warmer soon.

By noon, the sun is high in the sky and Tobin knows it must be at least a hundred degrees. The trees offer some shade, but there's only so much they can do.

Hiking non-stop with no water combined with the intense heat has started to affect Tobin a lot faster than she anticipated it would. She has a headache, she's nauseas and dizzy, and she knows she won't be able to go more than a couple days like this.

A couple hours past noon a cannon goes off, and she freezes. Her need for water had all but eradicated any fear of other tributes, until now. She goes back on alert, almost shaking with anticipation of an attack.

As night falls, she climbs exhaustedly as high into the tree as she dares, and waits for the death recap.

Just one portrait is shown, Amy Rodriguez from 4. Tobin wonders what happened to her district partner, Lauren.

Now, there are seventeen tributes left, sixteen if Tobin doesn't count herself. Sixteen people between her and going home.

The next day is much the same. One cannon goes off early in the morning, right as Tobin has started her hiking for the day.

She's been heading generally away from the Cornucopia, but any more than that, she has no idea. She wonders where she is on a large scale arena map.

By now, her head pounds with every beat of her heart, and Tobin is cursing Heather’s name, wondering why she hasn't sent her any water yet. And then...

 _Squish_.

Tobin’s boot sinks a centimeter into the ground, and there's the signature sound of the squelching of mud as she lifts her foot up. She smiles. So that's why; Heather knew Tobin was close.

Tobin follows the mud as it gets looser and wetter until she's at a small pond. It's little, but the water has a flow to it, and it looks clean enough.

Despite her mouth screaming for hydration, she forces herself to wait for the iodine to purify it, and then forces herself to take little sips so she isn't sick.

Over the course of the next couple hours she drinks three canteens of water, and then packs up one more to take with her. She nibbles on a meat strip as she walks back into the forest a short way, and then gets herself up in a tree for the night.

She watches as the death recap reveals Lauren Cheney as the fallen tribute today, the district partner of the dead tribute yesterday.

Settling into her sleeping bag, Tobin thinks about how lucky she is to still be alive. More than lucky, she's _surprised_ she's made it this far. She dozes on and off, and is almost fast asleep when there's a sharp scream.

She jolts awake, careful not to make any noise as she lays still, calming her heart rate.

A girl is crying, and when Tobin sits up slowly, she sees a flicker of light. The crying tribute has lit a fire in the middle of the night, likely to keep warm. The reasoning is sound, but doesn’t mean it’s not a stupid idea regardless.

The Careers have probably gone night hunting to pick off the tributes that are in the unfortunate situation of not being able to climb a tree. Building a fire in the pitch black of night does nothing but double your chances of being found.

Tobin thanks her farmer neighbor silently for indirectly being the reason she was strong enough to haul ass up the vertical trunk.

Tobin listens to the girl crying and begging them to spare her, which is pointless, because if they don’t kill her now, they’ll just kill her later. Tobin feels sorry for her, until the girl says, “Don’t kill me and I’ll tell you where to find another girl.”

“Who?” asks a voice Tobin recognizes as Kelley from 1.

“From 12, the one who volunteered.”

Tobin’s heart starts pounding as she realizes the girl is talking about _her_ . Her pity dissolves. _Fuck you, too_ , she thinks sourly.

“Okay,” Kelley says. “Where?”

“Just a few feet away, I don’t remember which direction, but she’s up in a tree somewhere,” the girl says. Tobin is relieved to know the voice doesn’t belong to any tribute she actually likes, namely one of the kids from 10, but her relief fades as she realizes this girl actually saw her; she's not making stuff up to save her skin.

“Thanks,” Kelley says. Then there’s a brief scream, and a cannon goes off.

Well, shit.

“She was probably lying,” another Career says. Abby. “Must have thought we’d actually let her go.”

“What if she wasn’t,” Kelley argues. Tobin can hear someone stomping out the fire.

“Does it matter?” a voice Tobin immediately identifies as Alex asks. “There are easier tributes to go get, let’s move on.”

“No. I want to slit Twelve’s throat,” Abby says. “Let’s ask Romeo if it could be her.”

There’s a pause, and then Kelley says, “Fine, tell us.”

“It’s a lie.”

Tobin almost falls out of the tree as she identifies the voice as Christen. She’s as sure of it as she’s sure of her own name. Of course _Christen_ would be the first district 12 tribute ever to get in with the Careers.

As quietly as she can, she slides out of her sleeping back and stuffs everything back in her pack as the Careers start moving again. They've got Capitol made flashlights lighting their path; all they have to do is notice a lump where a tree shouldn't have one, and they'll see her. 

Tobin freezes as they walk right underneath her, but she’s at an angle where she can feel a knife sliding out of her belt. “Shit,” she mutters.

Tobin can see Abby stop. “What was that?”

“Nothing, a deer or something,” Alex grumbles. “Let’s _go._ ”

"Deer don't come out at night," Kelley argues. 

"What? That's ridiculous." Alex again. "It's bunnies that don't come out at night."

"Neither do!" Abby cuts them off. "Now shut up, I'm listening."

"For wha-?"

And then, Tobin’s knife falls.

She knows better than to reach out for it because the chances of her catching it are slim, and even if she did, she’d most likely grab into the blade end.

It drops neatly at Abby's feet.

All four look up, and she's momentarily blinded by a bright white light. Abby smiles. “Hey, Twelve.”

Tobin knows for sure the cameras must be on them right now, so she masks her _oh, shit_ feelings, and smiles. “Hi, Abby. Kelley. Alex. _Traitor_.” Christen has the sense to look a little guilty, but doesn’t say anything.

“Wanna come on down?” Abby asks. “We’d love for you to join our alliance. We’ve got a lake full of _water_ , and an abundance of supplies.”

“Oh, really?” Tobin says. “‘Cause I was listening to you guys, and ‘we’d love for you to join us’ sounded a lot more like ‘I want to slit her throat.’”

“I could spear you from up here,” Abby says, dropping her not-even-a-little-convincing-to-begin-with facade. Her eyebrows are narrowed, and she holds the beloved weapon that almost killed Tobin a day earlier.

“Please do,” Tobin says.

Abby launches it up, but it just bounces harmlessly off the bark of the trunk. Tobin shakes her head, hoping the cameras are still on them. “Your stance is wrong,” she says as Abby picks up the spear again. “You need to hold it a little further back.”

Alex is smiling faintly, and Abby has attempted five more times when Kelley stops her. “Look, she’s obviously not going anywhere, and _you’re_ obviously not going to hit her. Let’s just camp here for the night. She has to come down sometime, right?"

Christen shrugs and plops down, leaning against a trunk. The rest eventually follow suit, and Tobin watches them organize their stuff for a bit before climbing a little bit higher into the tree. She settles against the trunk, knowing for sure she won’t be getting anymore sleep tonight.

It’s about an hour later that she hears a little noise. Tapping. Might be a woodpecker or some other sort of animal, but the pattern is too organized to be anything less than man made.

She sits up, confused, and looks around. She doesn’t see anything at first, but on her second sweep of the trees around her, she sees four small boots. Cautiously, Tobin taps their pattern back. Two heads peek out, and her suspicions are confirmed; it’s the kids from 10.

The smaller one, Jessie, points above their heads, and Tobin sees a nest. It’s vibrating slightly, and she knows it belongs to a hive of tracker jackers, because the gamemakers wouldn’t be nice enough to put regular bees in.

Tracker jackers are a Capitol made wasp with stings that create hallucinations and often, death. They also hunt you down if you disturb them, hence the “tracker” part of their name. Tobin still doesn’t know why it matters, though. It’s certainly more motivation for her to haul ass out of the tree, but they must know she can’t with the Careers right there.

The other one, Mallory, points at the nest again, and then the ground. Then she points at Tobin, and then at the nest and mimes cutting something. Tobin looks down and realizes they’re telling her they want to cut the nest off so it falls onto the Careers. So why don’t they do it?

She furrows her eyebrows pointedly, and Jessie points at Tobin again. She looks down, searching herself, and realizes they need her knife. She pulls it out of her belt and holds it up. Jessie nods.

Tobin mimes throwing it, and they nod again. Tobin grips it, hoping she doesn’t miss, and then launches it with as much force as she can. It sticks right in the bark inches away from them, and she smiles.

Mallory pulls it out, climbs nimbly a few feet higher, and then begins to saw away at the branch holding the nest. Tobin glances down and sees all the Careers have fallen asleep, even though it’s clear Abby was supposed to be on watch.

A few tracker jackers crawl out of the nest, and Jessie taps on her partner’s calf to tell her to hurry up. She saws harder, and finally, the nest falls, but it’s lopsided in weight, and crashes into branches on its way down. The hive hits Tobin’s tree, and a few tracker jackers go after her.

Faintly, she hears Jessie and Mallory tree jumping away, and sees the nest burst open on the ground, but she’s too busy trying to get the fuck away from the super-bees to even worry about the Careers. Tobin clumsily slides down one branch at a time as fast as possible, grateful she’d packed up her stuff before hand.

Kelley, Alex, and Christen have all run off after Kelley yelled something about going to the lake, but Abby is writhing on the ground surrounded by the tracker jackers; the nest must have hit near her first.

Tobin slides down a bit more, but her foot misses the branch below, and she feels herself falling, bouncing on each branch on her way down, just like the nest did. _Fantastic._

Her breath is knocked away, and she lays there gasping for air as her hands grab at the leaves and sticks on the forest floor. Briefly, she registers that she’s been stung somewhere on her neck, and knows the delusions have started as the forest begins to tumble down around her.

She crawls over to where Abby must be dead, or at least incapacitated enough not to attack her, and slides the spear out of her tight grip. Tobin winces as Abby’s fingers snap off as she breaks away the shaft, and hopes that’s another delusion.

She pushes herself to her feet, but has to lean against a tree for support. She’s debating just letting that be the end, when she sees a figure burst through the trees, and suddenly she feels strangely motivated to keep going because it’s Kelley. Behind her is Alex, and then Christen. They’ve come back for some reason, maybe to finish her off just because the tracker jackers have flown away, and they can.

Tobin's foot catches on a tree root, and she falls. Her head feels foggy, her vision is blurry, and she's wondering if this is how it'll end, when a figure appears over her. Tobin hopes it's Christen. It's not. She braces herself for whatever's coming next, be it a sword or a knife, but nothing happens. Her vision clears just enough to make out two piercing blue eyes glaring at her accompanied by a voice yelling at her to run. Tobin vaguely registers that it's Alex. _Run. Run. Run._

 _  
_ So she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks 4 (four) reading Another Bad Chapter. also i don't think y'all realize this is a hunger games au. the whole premise is that everybody except 1 has to die!!!! which means 1) ur fav is probably gonna die & 2) no sequel cause i don't have enough woso players i like left ;( lol
> 
> \-- my name
> 
> p.s. i used dark haired alex in this fic bc bless


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is only like 4.5k words pls accept my apologies

 

Tobin doesn’t know how long she’s been running or where she’s going. All she can think about is putting distance between her and the Careers, and after what seems like an eternity of stumbling over tree roots and tripping over rocks, she finally hears the sound of the tracker jackers fading.

She slows, trying to ignore the hallucinations, but they ruin any chance of her following a straight path anyway. With every new interruption, she alters her course slightly, and she knows she’ll never be able to retrace it. A tree cracking in half forces her to the right, pits of something bubbling and foul smelling sends her into a sharp left, and on and on. 

Eventually, she has to stop. Her lungs are burning, her legs are on fire, but most of all, she feels weak and sick in a way she never has before. 

She lowers herself to the ground shakily and her skin crawls with the feeling of a million ants scurrying along her skin, but when she looks down, there’s nothing there. She feels her vision fading and her hand falls to the side of her neck. There’s a lump from the sting of the tracker jacker. Tobin grits her teeth and just barely refrains from crying out as she removes the stinger. Then, she feels herself fading; she doesn’t even have time to worry about another tribute finding her before she’s gone completely. 

//

She’s awake for at least ten minutes until it registers.

The sound of birds. A breeze. The familiar smell of forest. Tobin hesitantly blinks her eyes open, but shuts them tightly again as she's met with a full face of sunlight. 

She waits for the spots to fade before turning her head slightly and trying again. The first thing her eyes latch onto is the spear she’d taken from Abby. She almost feels bad, until she remembers the spear means food, weaponry, and survival. 

It was slow going trying to ration out the dried meat strips and crackers, but with this spear, she’ll be able to get herself some fish, and if she’s careful, some game as well. 

Her body aches as she props herself up and tries to reorient herself. 

It's clear she's still in the forest, but she doesn't recognize her surroundings at all. There's a patch of flowers here and there, but for the most part, it just looks like trees. No sign of water, no sign of anything that could point her in a particular direction. 

Tobin eats five dried beef strips and the rest of her crackers, content in knowing this will not be the last of the food supply. There’s still a small lump on her neck where the tracker jacker stung her, but Tobin is glad enough that she’s alive. 

She wonders how long she’s been out. 

Finally, she forces herself to her feet, and sets off in search of water with her spear in hand. Her eyes hurt from the harsh sunlight, but the glasses in her bag do little to help. They fragment her vision as if she's looking through stained glass, so she sourly stuffs them back in her pack. 

It’s been at least four hours when she finally hears the sound of running water. The noise automatically tells her this is a different spot than she originally found, which was more still, and the swiftness of the sound is promising. 

Tobin sighs happily at the sight of a waterfall that flows into a large pool. She refills her canteen, mixes in a little iodine, and hides it in a bush with her pack before stripping down to her underwear from the Capitol.

She has to admit, despite their gaudy outfits that hurt to look at, they do comfort very well. The underclothes she was given consists of shorts that cling to her skin and a sort of tank top that stops at her ribcage. The uniform she was given for the arena is made of a stretchy lightweight fabric, and thought it helps keep her warm at night, it also somehow cools her off during the day. She hides her clothing, and then dives into the pool.

It’s cold, refreshing, and Tobin wishes she wasn’t in a death arena because she could live out here forever. 

She spends at least twenty minutes swimming around and floating in the water just because she can. There's some algae growing on the rocks below, but Tobin can tread well enough to avoid touching it, and there's enough movement to keep the body of water itself clear. 

Holding her breath, she lets herself sink and float a foot from the bottom. With her spear on the shore and her surrounded by land, she realizes she's completely vulnerable, and that thought sends her mind back into the games and away from the sanctuary she'd given herself in the water. 

Returning to thinking of her survival, Tobin looks for food. She spies a few tiny fish, not nearly big enough for eating, but she knows there will be more. 

She pulls her hair out of the ponytail it’s been tied into since the games first started and starts rinsing her skin and hair out. She can practically feel the grime and sweat washing off, and she hopes the viewers are watching her; a tribute that can swim is always promising.

Tobin has wrung her hair out and is letting the sun dry her off when she hears a faint rustling. She cracks one eye open and spies some sort of woodland creature drinking from the pool with its back to her. It looks like a deer because of its brown fur color with white spots, a rabbit because of its feet shape, it has the tail of a squirrel, and is the size of a large house cat, but Tobin knows it’s none of those.

Grabbing her spear, she quietly stands and aims. She’s perfected the art of staying still and moving slowly until the final throw well from learning to fish with a spear. 

Tobin knows that if the animal turns, it’ll take off, so she forces herself to stop overthinking and just strike. She  wishes she’d had time to practice with the new spear, but it feels much like the ones from the training center, so she hopes her shot will be accurate

She hurls the spear. It strikes the animal in the neck, and it topples forward. Tobin curses and runs forward. She grabs the animal right before it’s submerged, and hopes any blood hasn’t contaminated the supply. 

Tobin breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes the animal is dead; she’d never been very good at killing in one strike, and always had to look away as her dad finished them off. She reaches for her knife at her belt, but when her hand grabs at nothing, she remembers she dropped one, and the other is probably still with those two kids from ten.

Gritting her teeth, she realizes she's going to have to prepare this animal with her spear.  

She does a rough job of skinning and butchering the animal without the sharp agility of a knife, but she does it quickly before she can get a good look at the animal and feel bad about it. 

She hopes the Capitol citizens are watching her do this. They’ll think it’s barbaric, of course, and are probably in tears over this cute little animal while they continue to obliviously eat their bunny stew, but in the end, it’ll prove she can survive on her own. 

Tobin collects some leaves, twigs, a a few slightly bigger sticks, and then goes back to the rocks by the swimming hole. Using a match, she builds a small fire, lets it burn for a few minutes, and then blows out the flames till there’s only glowing embers left. 

She holds the shaft of the spear right up close to the head, she strips a few sticks of their bark, and then cuts up the animal into a cookable pieces. She sets a few to roast on the skinned sticks, then lays them out to cool off, and repeats until all of the animal is cooked. 

By now, she’s sure at least one tribute has seen her smoke, so she uses a few canteens of unpurified water to rinse off the blood from her spear and hands in the bushes, fills another one with iodine, and then packs up as quickly as she can.

She munches on one piece of meat and packs the rest in the little plastic bags the dried meat and crackers were sealed in, and starts off again. Instead of going back into the woods, she climbs the rocks next to the waterfall, and then starts walking along the heavy stream.

Tobin has sat down to rest again when she hears a faint rustling from up above. She spins around and scans the leaves, but there’s nobody there that she can see, until her eyes adjust and are able to pick out a slightly darker bit by the trunk. She identifies one tip of a boot, small enough to be a kid’s. 

“You know, I never got to thank you for taking down that nest,” she says loudly, hoping her assumptions about the owner of the boot are correct. She’s rewarded with two small heads popping out. “Are you hungry? I have some food.” They look skeptical. Tobin can’t blame them.

Eventually, though, they climb down, Jessie first, and Mal only after her district partner’s feet are on the grass and still alive. 

The two walk over slowly, like they want to trust her, but aren't sure if they should. 

Today, Jessie is wearing the backpack, and she produces their own canteen of water along with a small pouch of berries and roots. 

Tobin brings out her meat and lays it next to their food. “I hunted and cooked it today, so it’s fresh. I don’t really know what it is, but it’s good.”

They eat quietly for a bit until the smaller one, Mallory, says, “Thanks.”

Then more silence. 

Tobin wonders what Heather thinks of her teaming up with two twelve year olds. 

“So, you’ve been following me,” Tobin says when they’ve all eaten their fill. The two look a little guilty.

“It was Mal’s idea,” Jessie says immediately.

Tobin smiles. “I'm not mad. I just say that because I want to know what happened while I was out,” she says.

“We were able to follow you in the trees because you weren't going very fast, and you ran for about a mile until you collapsed,” Mal says thoughtfully. “When it was safe to come down, we treated your tracker jacker sting with some of these leaves we have in our district that works really good when you chew them up. And then we kind of guarded you through the day. Near nightfall, a girl from 11 came, and Jess had to... well...”

“I used the knife you gave us to kill her from our tree,” Jessie finishes. 

“Yeah.” Mal’s voice is small.

“That was really brave of you,” Tobin says. She tries to think about what kind of comfort she’d want if she were twelve, but if it were her, she knows she’d just run and hide. 

“Well, anyway, you made it another day with nobody else finding you, and we treated your wounds a bit here and there,” Jessie continues. “On the third day, you woke up.”

“Today,” Tobin clarifies. They nod.

“And there have only been a few deaths; Morgan Brian from 6 was the girl who was gonna give you up that night the Careers found you,” Jessie says. “Crystal Dunn from 11 was the girl I had to, um, stab, to prevent her from hurting you. Abby died, too, from the tracker jackers.”

“The Career with the freckles--”

“Kelley,” Tobin supplies.

Mal nods. “Yeah, Kelley, she split off and joined a new alliance with the remaining girl from 2, Hope, I think, and both girls from 3.”

“What about Christen and Alex?” Tobin asks. 

Jessie shrugs. “They’re hiding out somewhere together. Not sure. We lost track of them when we started looking out for you.”   
“Why did you?” Tobin asks quietly. 

“Why did we what?”

Tobin plays with a few stones. “Why did you help me?”

“Because we want you to win,” Jessie says. She gazes at Tobin with her big brown eyes, and glances at Mallory before saying, “we knew we wouldn’t, and we thought it was really nice what you did for that girl in your district.”

Tobin stews on this information for a bit, but then realizes the sun is starting to set. “We should get into our trees for the night.”

“We?” Jessie looks up hopefully.

“I mean, if you’d do me the honor of being your ally,” Tobin says seriously. The two nod vigorously, and Tobin smiles, helping them to their feet. “Great. Maybe one day you can teach me to climb a tree.”

Jessie and Mal giggle to themselves as they watch Tobin’s incredibly stupid method, and then scamper up the branches like mice after her. As she pulls out her sleeping bag, Tobin notices they don’t have one. She remembers how cold the nights have been and says, “Here. You two can share this.”

They stare at her wide eyed. Mal takes it hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I have a pretty good tolerance for cold,” Tobin lies. “The bag has even been too hot on some occasions.”

The sun is gone completely by now, and the cold is eating into Tobin’s bones. She almost takes her offer back, but watching the two scramble into the sleeping bag with delighted expressions on their faces is like the best gift she’s ever gotten, so she just relaxes against the tree and pulls her hood up.

There have been no deaths today, and the sky is silent.

She hears the two kids falling asleep on the branch slightly above hers, and resumes stewing on the fact that Alex and Christen are together somewhere. Alex, who she’s supposed to and maybe kind of does have a crush on, and Christen, who’s supposed to have a crush on  _ her _ and also maybe kind of does.

Last time she saw the two of them together, Christen was stalking moodily back to their floor and didn’t speak to Tobin for the rest of the night.

Still, at least they’re alive. 

Tobin doesn’t like very many of the tributes in the arena, and when she thinks about Jessie telling her she knows she won't win, Tobin sort of wishes she didn’t like any of them at all. It would make everything much easier. 

//

The next few days feel like a dream.

They wake with the sunrise, Tobin goes to hunt something while the two kids forage for roots and berries, and then they eat. They spend the days hiking along the stream, and Tobin tries to teach Jessie how to swim, but the current is too strong. 

Tobin almost forgets they're in the arena. She’s glad to have the knife to skin her game again, and watching Jessie and Mal bundled up in her sleeping bag warms her almost enough that she forgets how cold she is at night.

During their morning meal on the third day, Mal asks, “Your district partner is nice, right?”

“Christen?” Tobin pauses with a berry halfway to her mouth. “Yeah. I mean... yeah, I guess.”

“‘Cause she said in her interview you didn’t like,” Mal says.

“Well, she meant that I didn’t like her in a romantic way,” Tobin says.

“Yeah, Mal. Just because you want to be someone’s friend doesn’t mean you want to  _ marry  _ them,” Jessie says like it’s obvious.

“And Christen definitely doesn’t want to marry me,” Tobin agrees quickly. “I mean, she barely knows me.” No sooner has she said this does she realize that might have ruined things for Christen and her plan to get pity sponsors. “Well,  _ I  _ don’t really know  _ her _ . But she has always been really nice.” 

To try and save herself, she tells them the story of the time Christen gave her free bread. 

“Our mentor said you don’t like Christen because you like that girl from 1,” Jessie says. Then she covers her mouth. “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Tobin grins. “I’m sure that doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“Do you?” Mal prompts. 

_ What would Heather do? What would Heather do? What would Heather do? _ she chants in her head. Finally she just says, “Even if I liked her, she doesn’t like me back.”

There. That way, she didn’t necessarily admit to liking Alex, but she also didn’t confirm that she doesn’t. 

“Yes, she does,” Mal says.

Tobin coughs on a piece of meat. “Sorry, what?” she rasps, downing half her canteen of water.

“She saved your life, of course she likes you back,” Mal tells her nonchalantly. “Can I have that last piece of chicken?”

“It’s not chicken, and  _ I _ want it,” Jessie huffs.

“Well, unless you know what it is, I’m calling it chicken,” Mal says. “And I said it first, so I get it.”

“Here, you can have mine,” Tobin tells Jessie. “But, Mal, what did you mean about Alex saving my life?”

“Oh,” Mal says through a mouthful of not-chicken. “When you got stung by a tracker jacker, Kelley was gonna go finish you off, but Alex hit her with a rock and got you enough time to get away. When she recovered, I guess she figured you were more trouble than it was worth, ‘cause she ran also.” 

Tobin processes this as Jessie and Mal start fighting over who gets the last berry. 

She thought Alex telling her to run was a hallucination from the tracker jacker, like her brain was doing whatever it could to save her, only to find out from a literal twelve year old that it wasn’t her brain, it was Alex saving her  _ again _ . 

Kelley must’ve been pissed.

She smiles at that, and sits back, content that the four people in the entire arena she gives any shits about are alive, and lets herself enjoy life for the tiny amount of time she can.

Tobin knows she’s never felt this at peace, and probably never will again. During their hike the next day, Jessie starts talking about how they could live like this for the rest of their lives, hunting and gathering and sleeping in trees to avoid the other tributes. She skips and runs, kicking a pinecone with her as they go, while Mal, who has stripped off her boots and is wading in the stream, agrees that she’d be happy if they stayed like this forever. 

Of course, Tobin knows it won’t be that simple.

On the fifth day she’s spent with them, she begins to feel uneasy. Five days without a death is uncommon, and most of all, boring for the Capitol viewers. 

She’s glad to know Christen and Alex are still alive, but the fact that the gamemakers haven’t messed with anything makes her anxious. Usually, if it’s been three days with nobody getting killed, they’ll make the arena smaller or do something to drive the tributes closer together.

The only reason they wouldn’t is if they know something will happen already.

And it does.

On the sixth evening, the three of them are lying on the grass, gazing at the stars. Tobin knows not real, just fabrications in the false sky the gamemakers have created for the arena, but they’re pretty nonetheless.

Jessie is telling them about the pictures in the constellations, and Mal is arguing that no, it looks way more like a horse than a lion, when Tobin hears a twig snap. She sits up, wide eyed and alert, cursing herself for being so careless.

Slowly, the two kids quiet, and watch Tobin for instruction. 

“Maybe it was nothing,” Mal says eventually. 

It’s been five minutes of sitting frozen, and Tobin has to agree. She sighs. “Yeah. But we should get into our trees for the night.”

They divide up the leftover food, Jessie stores the knife in her backpack, and they begin helping each other up from the grass. Mal is cheery again, promising a bedtime story she wrote in her head while they were hiking that day. 

Jessie begins climbing, and is halfway up when Tobin says, “I’ll be back in a minute, I’m going to go get some more water to purify overnight so we have something to drink first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks, mom,” Jessie teases. Tobin grins and salutes the two of them; she thinks it’s cute, knows it’s probably comforting for them to have someone older they can look up to, and also hopes it’ll warm the Capitol citizens’ cold, dead hearts and get them sponsors. 

Tobin kneels next to the stream and lets the water flow into it for a few seconds to rinse and fill it. She’s screwing the top on and wiping her hands off when she hears a scream.

A scream high pitched and innocent enough for it to belong only to a child. 

She stuffs the water into her pack and runs towards the sound, sure it was Mal. Slowing as she gets closer to where they’ve decided to camp, she hides behind a tree and watches as the alliance Jessie told her about on the first day she woke up circles their tree.

Jessie is up in the branches, but Mal is still on the ground. A silver arrow pierces Mal’s sleeve to the tree, but Tobin doesn’t see any blood, and hopes it missed her arm.

Still, the little twelve year old is surrounded. There’s five of them. Tobin recognizes Kelley and a girl from 6, Emily something, Hope Solo from 2, and the girls from 3 that absolutely look like Career material; strong, stone faced, and ruthless.

They’re teasing and joking with Mal while Jessie sits terrified in the tree, knowing Kelley could shoot her with an arrow at any second.

Of course, if Kelley is as good with the bow as she is with a spear, Jessie will be fine, but she doesn’t know that.

“Where’s Heath?” Kelley demands. “I know she’s been travelling with you, and I wanted to tell her I cut her girlfriend pretty bad, and she’s as good as dead.”

Girlfriend? 

Tobin honestly doesn’t know if Kelley is talking about Alex or Christen, but then she says, “Too bad I didn’t get my traitor of a district partner along with her” and knows it’s Christen who's injured. 

And then Tobin remembers that Kelley isn’t  _ completely  _ incompetent, she just happened to have the wrong weapons; back during their training sessions, she’d seen Kelley hitting bullseye after bullseye in the knife throwing station. 

“So, where is she?”

“She went to get more water from the stream,” Mal says in a quivering voice.

At first, Tobin stills.  _ Could she really be betraying me?  _ she wonders . But then, one of the girls from 3 says, “She’s lying, obviously.”

“How do  _ you  _ know?” the other girl from 3 asks.

The first girl rolls her eyes. “Are you stupid? Why would she tell us the truth?”

“Ali’s right, Becky,” Hope says, nodding. “Check the trees. She must be in one of them.”

Tobin breaks out into a smile. Little Mallory Pugh is smarter than Tobin gave her credit for, and she’s glad. Jessie still looks terrified, but as the rest spread out to search for a tribute they’ll never find, she manages to slowly inch her way further up into the tree.

“Hey!” Kelley says loudly. She’s pointing an arrow at Jessie. “Don’t move.”

Tobin can tell Jessie is hesitating, analyzing her attacker. Kelley’s poised with an arrow nocked in the string of the bow, but the form is wrong. Her aim is just off. Tobin knows that even focused, she'd miss. 

Knowing that, she steps out from behind the tree she’s hiding behind before she can stop herself, and yells Kelley’s name. In the split second it takes for Kelley to whip her head around, Jessie is scampering up the trunk, and Mal has taken off into the woods.

Kelley fires an arrow blindly in Tobin’s direction, then drops the weapon she obviously doesn’t know how to use, and draws a knife from her belt.

Shit.

Kelley  _ is _ good with those.

Tobin weaves in and out of the trunks at a sprint as a few knives thunk into the trunks of trees she’s just passed. She counts five by the time she’s out of the forest, but no more come. Tobin stumbles to a halt at the edge of the stream, gasping for breath. 

Kelley has reached the edge of the woods, and Tobin sees her pull her arm back to release her last knife. She knows this isn’t like with the bow or the spear; she’s not going to miss this time, not if Tobin doesn’t do something fast.

So she dives into the stream.

Tobin had planned on teaching the two kids how to swim, but the undertow was too strong. Now, however, she’s grateful. It sweeps her away from Kelley, and her energy is refocused onto staying afloat. 

She swallows a mouthful of water and coughs, struggling to stay above the water. Still, Kelley has no more knives; Tobin won’t die by her hand today. 

Her head is dunked underwater again, but even with her ears plugged, she hears a canon go off. Instantly, she knows it wasn’t one of the Careers, and it’s unlikely it was any of the other tributes. She briefly wonders if it’s Alex or Christen, remembering what Kelley had said about one of them being injured, but in the back of her mind, she knows it’s one of the kids.

And she also knows it’s probably Mal.

Jessie was always the faster one, the stronger one, the last to tire and the first to rise from a rest break. She also has a knife, and aim maybe better than even Kelley. 

Besides, she’d gotten into a tree, and the bow was the only long range weapon they’d had. Mal was running, off into the woods the new Careers were spread out in.

Tobin let’s the water carry her for at least an hour until her muscles are all but giving out, and she has to drag herself onto land. She just lets herself fall asleep on the grass next to the stream, and half-heartedly hopes nobody finds her.

In the morning, she continues hiking back the way she came, letting the sun dry her clothes. Halfway through the day, she spears a fish and eats it raw, not caring enough to build a fire. 

She worries about Christen, but no canon has gone off, meaning someone is likely taking care of her at least enough to keep her alive. And that someone is probably Alex.

_What is with her and saving 12’s tributes all the time? Must have some sort of hero complex_ , Tobin grumbles to herself.

As the day dies down, she realizes Jessie or Mal, probably Jessie, is alone for the first time in the arena. The two had been allied together before, always someone to watch the other’s back.

“Hey,” she says into the sky from her tree. “Heather. Send... send the surviving tribute from district 10 whatever she needs. I don’t care how expensive it is. Give it to her.”

Nothing happens. Obviously.

She sinks back into the branch and is glad at least she gave them her sleeping bag. At least whoever she will be warm tonight.

She’s lying in the tree for an hour when the anthem begins. 

Tobin wants to squeeze her eyes shut, but she knows she has to look. The portrait that appears in the sky confirms what she already knew to be true; Mal was the one who the Careers decided to settle for. 

Maybe Jessie really did manage to get away by herself, or maybe Mal was just an easier target, or maybe both.

Either way, she's gone. 

And for the first time since she's entered the arena, Tobin cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry abt killing pugh but 1 of them had to die & it aint gonna b my gerlfrond jflem. also it's weird cause the plot i'm going with now is completely different from my original plan that wasn't a triangle (just tobin/alex)
> 
> anyway. sorry for the christen/alex drought, we return to them next chapter!! & then it'll actually b interesting & then i have to start killing off my faves ugh 
> 
> \-- my name
> 
> p.s. come bother me on tumblr @ jessieflemlng (same as my ao3 username)
> 
> p.p.s why does it still post the end notes from the first chapter??? stop???

**Author's Note:**

> hahahah the one thing i hated about thg series was the love triangle!! but here i am!! writing one!! anyway, you can decide for yourself who's peeta & who's gale lmao. also i haven't decided who's going to be endgame so i guess whichever people request more i'll go with
> 
> i hope u liked it, next chapter should be longer!!


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